Molly's Picture
by cactusnell
Summary: What secret does Molly find in Sherlock's wallet. Sherlolly I have now written a sequel called "What's In a Name?".


Sherlock Holmes hadn't really planned on taking a swim on that particular afternoon. Being April, it was still far too chilly in the city of London, not to mention that the Thames was hardly a suitable venue for such an exercise. But swim he did. For his life.

He and DI Greg Lestrade had been in what could be termed hot pursuit of a suspected embezzler, the white collar criminal having taken an unexpected bunk when presented with the Inspector's badge. In Sherlock's experience, embezzlers usually surrendered quietly, called their barrister, and cut a deal. But this one took off, with Holmes and Lestrade close behind. As they approached the waterfront, Lestrade slowed to use his radio to contact port police, but Sherlock continued, running across the dock, and taking a flying leap onto the deck of a rather slowly departing vessel. Thinking to himself that he must have cut a rather dashing figure, Sherlock was caught off balance by a blow to the head, and found himself tumbling into the river.

He was sinking rather rapidly, even swallowing quite a bit of water, before he thought to sacrifice his beloved Belstaff to the icy grip of the Thames, managing only to remove his mobile before the coat sunk slowly and Sherlock rose rapidly. Damn, he loved that coat!

He was pulled from the water by the port police, who had already taken the suspect into custody, and delivered to a waiting ambulance on the dock, where a perfectly dry Greg Lestrade stood waiting for him. "Really impressive, you git!"

"My daring leap onto a moving vessel?"

"No, the swan dive. I give it a 9.2!" Lestrade managed to laugh a bit as they shut the door of the ambulance which took Sherlock off to the hospital.

As soon as Lestrade found out that the consulting detective was being taken to St. Bart's, he called Molly Hooper to give her a head's up. Sherlock may not want her fussing over him, but Greg know that Molly would never forgive him if he hadn't informed her. She met him as he was being wheeled into A&E, shouting angry protests, only to calm down slightly when his best friend and personal physician Dr. John Watson arrived.

"John, I tell you, the only thing wrong with me is that I'm wet! Just get me some dry clothes and get me out of here!"

"Sherlock, you may have swallowed some of that water. In fact, it's almost definite that you did. We'll have to do some test for contaminants. Maybe even pump your stomach…" John was silenced by Sherlock's icy glare.

"John's right, Sherlock. I've seen some of the gunk that comes out of that river. Better safe than sorry. Let's get you out of those clothes…"

"I appreciate the offer Dr. Hooper, but now is hardly the appropriate time…"

Molly, realizing the unintentional double entendre of her words, blushed furiously before punching his arm.

John started to remove his friend's suit jacket, retrieving his mobile and handing it to Molly. "It's soaked, mate. I don't think you'll be able to retrieve anything."

Molly went in search of some scrubs for the detective to wear while John continued to help him strip. She had a brief vision of Sherlock Holmes in a typical hospital gown, open in the back for all the world to see, but shook her mind free to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Returning with the dry apparel, she passed it on to John, who dumped Sherlock's sodden clothing in her arms and tossed the dry stuff to his friend. "Make yourself decent, mate. Or as decent as possible. I'll check on what's happening."

Molly was going through his clothing, retrieving his wallet from the pocket of his trousers, and shoving it into the pocket of her lab coat along with his mobile. "Is this all you were wearing, Sherlock? Where's your Belstaff?"

"It sleeps with the fishes, Molly. It sacrificed its life for mine, although it seemed to be trying to take me down with it for a while there!"

"Are you going to try and save the suit? And the shirt? I may be able to do something in the lab to dry them. And the mobile. I can try a desiccating agent…

"I suppose…"

But they were interrupted when John returned to inform his friend that it was his considered opinion, as well as that of the attending physician in the A&E that he should plan on staying overnight for observation and continued blood tests. When the howling began, Molly Hooper decided that perhaps now was the time to beat a hasty retreat, and clutching her friend's personal effects, returned to her lab to see what she could do to restore them to their former state.

When Dr. Hooper got to her lab, she immediately set about drying the mobile phone. Time was of the essence when it came to electronics. She found a plastic container of a suitable size, filled it with activated charcoal, and buried the device inside. Then she started work on his wallet, an item of somewhat lesser importance as everything could surely be replaced. An inconvenience, at most.

She opened the wallet and removed several credit cards, debit cards, a driver's license. She examined the license carefully. Damn the man! Even the picture on this was lovely! Her driver's license picture was enough to frighten small children and attract bats. Next she went to the bill fold part, removing several bills of varying denominations, and several receipts. Dry cleaning receipt. Several takeaway food receipts. A lottery ticket from the previous year. And a rather beaten up photograph. Not really a photo, a photo on regular paper, covered in transparent tape, evidently as a makeshift laminate. Of her!

Molly laid out the documents on a tray under a heat lamp to speed the drying process, then leaned in to examine the photo more closely. It was rather beaten up and abused, scarred by folds, and faded with age. But it was definitely her. She was asleep on her couch in the sitting room, curled on her side. Her hair was loose, hanging across her cheek and over her shoulder. And Sherlock's navy blue scarf was around her neck.

She studied the photo carefully, but she didn't really need to. She knew exactly when it had been taken. After she had helped him fake his death he had spent two nights at her flat. He had been bruised and battered from the fall, so, to make him more comfortable, she had slept on the couch, allowing him the use of her bed. He had known that she had taken his scarf from the morgue that day, and she had been surprised that he hadn't teased her about it. But she would have gladly put up with the teasing to have that little reminder of him close by. She could smell his cologne, the scent of tobacco, and something else that was simply Sherlock. She often slept with it wrapped around her, even to this day.

He had obviously taken the photo with his mobile, while she was completely unaware. Probably the morning he left without saying goodbye. Then, knowing that the phone would have to be disposed of, he had downloaded it, and printed it out. Molly had no photo quality paper in her flat, so he had laminated it as well as he could with transparent tape. Evidently he had carried that photo with him during the entire two years he had spent dismantling Moriarty's network. He held on to it still after he returned home, a year and a half ago, to find her engaged to Tom. He had kept it while he was supposedly engaged to Janine, while he had relapsed on drugs, and during his four minute exile, which she hadn't found out about until it was over. He carried it still to this day.

There were no other photos in his wallet. None of Mycroft, nor his parents. Not John, or Mary, or his adored god daughter Claire. Only she had made it. Only her face, showing the wear and tear of years of gentle handling. That's when Molly found out that it was indeed possible to smile and cry at the same time.

"John, where are my clothes?"

"Molly took them to the lab. She's trying to save your mobile with a desiccating agent…"

"And my wallet?" Sherlock looked a bit anxious.

"I suppose she took that too. It was in your trousers, I suppose. Wouldn't do any harm to try and dry it…" John would have continued, but the look on his friend's face had him just a bit worried.

"Sherlock, is there a problem?"

"Possibly, John. My life, as we know it, may be about to end."

John was about to question him further, but Molly Hooper, at that moment, burst through the door. "We need to talk, Sherlock!"

"I'm rather indisposed at the moment, Molly," He coughed rather theatrically. "I seemed to have swallowed a goodly portion of the Thames. I'm feeling a bit weak…"

"Sherlock, what is this?" Molly placed the photo on the table next to his hospital bed, and stood quietly next to it, awaiting an answer while John struggled to get a closer look.

"It's a photo, Molly. It seems rather obvious to me!"

"Sherlock, don't do this. Tell me. Please!"

Sherlock Holmes sighed a rather deep sigh, took a breath, and quietly said, "You should know enough about me, and my methods, to deduce it yourself, Dr. Hooper. Why don't you try?"

Molly Hooper stood there studying the detective for a moment or two, before a slight smile started to play across her lips. "What do you plan doing about the situation, Sherlock Holmes?"

"What would you suggest?"

John was really not following this conversation at all, so he was more than a bit surprised when Molly Hooper leaned in over the bed and proceeded to snog his best friend senseless. He was even more surprised that Sherlock responded in kind.

Molly finally broke for air, smiling and saying, "We can continue this when you finally get the taste of that filthy river out of your mouth."

"If you'd thought ahead, you could have brought some mouthwash with you!"

Molly ruffled his curls before leaving the room to return to work in her morgue, winking at a dumbfounded John Watson.

"What was that about, mate?" John finally had the temerity to ask.

"As I told you, my life as we know it just ended. Changed completely. It appears I now have a girlfriend."

"A girlfriend?"

"Yes, but don't get used to the idea. I plan to upgrade her status as soon as reasonably possible, John." Sherlock smirked. "By the way, could you possibly find me some mouthwash?"


End file.
